a woman, her daughter, and a great wide world

There’s a Hole in My Foot, Dear Liza, Dear Liza

It’s slightly wider than the diameter of a dime. If you were to stack three dimes together, that’s how deep it is.

And why do I have this hole?

Because, dear Liza, I had **gasp** a plantar’s wart.

I’ve been growing this not-so-little sucker for approximately ten years. It was high time to say farewell. So I let my pediatrician attack it with a laser. Do you know how delightful it is to lie on a table and smell your own flesh being burned off with a futuristic device? It’s not. I kept repeating to myself, “Pretty pedicure. Pretty pedicure. Pretty pedicure.” Because that’s what I’m getting when this hole plugs itself up. A pretty pedicure. I haven’t had one in years because of the guilt factor. What if soaking my foot and allowing some innocent beautician to rub my sole means she develops plantar’s warts on her hands? Or I leave the virus behind for the next innocent pedicure receiver?

But now, Liza, I will get me a pretty pedicure.

Once this hole is fixed.

It’s certainly taking its time, let me tell you. And I feel a little nauseous twice a day when I have to look at it and re-bandage it. And, another thing, my doctor said “take it easy for a couple of days. You can’t run for at least a day or two.” A day or two? Try a week or two! Who the hell could go running when it feels like someone is shoving a nail into my foot every time I take a step?! Is it only me that doctors lie to about recovery time? Because my ortho lied too when I had knee surgery. And my midwife lied too when I gave birth. Do they hope that my mind will make me heal faster? Because my body doesn’t work that way. I need to be prepared so I know how long I’m gonna be walking around like a gimp and lying to everyone I meet about why there’s a big bandage on my foot. Because, seriously, who among us wants to admit to being warty?

Anyway, Dear Liza, I’ve got a hole in my foot. And I need it fixed. Pronto.

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6 Responses

Ha! Too funny. I had warts on my hands in high school and I was so embarassed. I had them taken off and they didn’t use a laser they used this metal “bubble blowing wand” looking thing that heated up to a zillion degrees and they just “scooped” the wart right out. Bled like an SOB! I had tennis practice the next day and 6 of my fingers are bandaged and everyone is like “what happened to you” and I say “i burned myself on the oven” and halfway through practice the bandages are coming off and there is blood everywhere and everyone is thinking “geez, why would her mother (the coach btw) let her practice with bleeding burned up hands” and she didn’t know they were bleeding and afterwards she says “thanks for making me look like an abusive mother” and I’m all “well i couldn’t tell people I had WARTS!!” totally not realizing that the world was not all about me and that my mother probably did not want to be known as neglectful. They took forever to heal. You can still see the scars, but no warts! They aren’t scars you would notice, just whiter patches of skin that if pointed out you would go “oh yeah”.

i have a plantar’s wart on my foot that i’ve had for about 4 years. I have the exact same conundrum – I’ve always wanted a pedicure, but I’m too embarassed to go now, with this ugly thing on my heel. so, you’ve inspired me to take care of it. I think I’m going to go to the store right now and get some wart remover.

Yea, that scent of burning flesh is great. Once they tried to remove the scar on my chin by melting it off with this electric thing. The novacaine didn’t completely work so it hurt like hell at times, and I saw smoke and smelled barbecue directly under my mouth. It wasn’t fun. AND the scar grew back, a shade darker and sticking out a smidgin more